History Repeating Itself
by FlamboyantLollipop
Summary: Sequel to Right and Wrong. You'll want to read the first story to understand the next one. America is hell bent on repaying Canada for his treachery. Russia and Britain are not making that easy. Bad summary. Sorry. Rated M for language and violence.


**Hello, everyone! I was thinking to myself and decided to attempt two things: a sequel to Right and Wrong and writing in present tense. Please tell me your thoughts and I hope it is not horrible. It'll be my first time at a sequel and present tense. Two birds with one stones. Here we go!**

It has been three years since Canada has seen his country. He had to be careful. The nation remained in Russia, monitoring his country from afar. Russia had been teaching Canada how to defend himself from attackers and pretty soon the smaller nation could fend off ten men and Russia on a good day. They were friends now, eating together and just hanging out. The spring in Russia yielded lovely landscapes with trees bursting with flowers. Times for them were just peaceful. Canada was considering going back to his homeland.

There is a dark room where a single shooting target sitting against the wall. A single light bulb hangs in the center of the room. The silence is shattered when shots ring out. The target is soon peppered with holes, most in the head.

A man coldly lets the gun magazine fall to the floor and loads another one. His blue eyes look at the target with hate as he unloads another volley of bullets into the target. His blonde hair ruffles as fingers run through them. Glasses glint against the light and the man turns and leaves.

The light bulb gently sways, the light illuminating the target, and Canada's picture that is glued onto the head.

America walks into his room and flops down onto the bed. He looks up at the ceiling, at the sharpie scrawled on the white surface. It's not only on the ceiling, the writing surrounds him. Every inch of wall space is filled with the words. _He betrays. Watch your back. No more friends, no more love. Trust no one. They'll be back to finish you off._

A shredded Canadian flag hangs above the headboard. It is a constant reminder of who brought America this pain.

The nation's hand brushes the four inch scar on his stomach. As he does this, those icy blue eyes wander over the words and messages and he quietly hums My Country 'Tis of Thee. The doorbell rings and the American gets up and walks over. He doesn't bother putting on a smile; everyone knows what he did. Canada made sure of that at the world conference. The nations no longer talk to America like a friend. They talk to him like a tiger trapped in a corner, ready to pounce. America opens the door to see a short blonde. "Britain."

Britain smiles, though it is forced. "Hello, America. How are you?"

"Fine."

The curt reply annoys the Brit. He takes a step closer. "We both know that's not true."

America sighs and opens the door wider. "Come in." After Britain passes, he closes the door behind him. "So," he says loudly. "What lies has Canada told you?"

The boldness of the question startles Britain. "He is not telling lies," he hisses. "He has the scars to prove it. Russia is able to support all his claims."

At this point, America is sitting across the kitchen table. He smirks. "Come now, Iggy." The nickname is delivered harshly, not lovingly like in the past. "You don't seriously think I'm that cruel." He gently blinks his eyes as if to feign innocence.

Britain sips his tea. "We all know the truth."

"Then why haven't I been, I don't know, taken away off to an asylum?"

Britain sighs. "I pulled a few strings. As long as I watch over you, you won't go to any asylum."

America doesn't know whether to thank Britain or not. He gets up and takes the dishes to the sink. "Well thank you for your concern but that isn't necessary."

"It is necessary." Britain stands up and walks over. "I worry about you." His green eyes sparkle like emeralds in the sun.

America gazes out the window and looks at the blue sky. "I think you should leave." His mind convinces him that no one loves him anymore and that betrayal is right around the corner. If his own kin betrayed him, his friends are more likely to stab him in the back. "I think you should leave."

The island nation is quick to shake his head. "Don't push me away, America! Don't refuse my help."

America's harsh voice cuts through the air. "Who are you to demand that?"

Britain's response is immediate. "I am your friend." His voice is steady. After a silent moment passes, the smaller nation throws up his hands in surrender. "Fine. I'll leave," he spits. "Just at least let me go to the bathroom."

America is confused by the request but shows his guest the restroom. Once Britain is in, he heads down to the basement. As he walks down, he can hear Russia's cries of pain ringing in his ears. He's not complaining. He actually likes it.

Britain, for his part, slowly opens the door once he hears America leave. He heads upstairs, careful to not hit a squeaky stair. He makes his way to America's room. Once there, he hesitantly opens America's door. His eyes widen in amazement when he sees the walls. Britain's heart is filled with sadness. He sees now that America is not getting better. His brain is inundated with horror. Britain hears that Canada wants to get back home but with this evidence, the northern nation cannot go so soon. Britain can't help but tremble in the presence of the shredded Canadian flag. His emerald eyes dart from message to message on the wall. "I have to tell Canada," he whispers. He sees the guns hanging on the wall and the knives, all on display. This is not the baby he raised.

Down in the basement, America is staring at the bed that Russia occupied when he was down here. Alone with his thoughts, he comes to realize that Britain has been in the bathroom for a long time. He heads back upstairs to see that the bathroom door is open. He is about to assume Britain left when he hears a bump upstairs. America is quick to grab his pistol and makes his way upstairs. He sees his door open and a scowl grows on his face. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Britain whips around to see America glaring daggers at him. He swallows and holds his hands up. "I'm sorry." His voice is almost a whisper. He takes a few steps back as America steps in. "I'll leave," he promises.

America's eyes capture Britain's as he thumbs the hammer on his weapon. He looks over Britain's shaking form, as if wondering what to do with him. "You're probably disgusted," he finally says, eyes moving to the rest of the room. "That's okay. I expected you to be." He abruptly leaps onto the bed and playfully waves the gun at Britain who is now backing up. "Leave."

Britain is still for a moment. He is positive that America would kill him. "What?"

Apparently, America is impatient because he fires a bullet that shatters the door frame above Britain. "Get out!"

Britain ducks upon hearing the shot and scrambles away from America, from that room, from that house. He leaps into his car and drives away as fast as he could. He grabs his phone and speed dials Canada.

"Hello?" A gentle voice answers after a few rings.

"Canada?" Britain's own voice is panicky. "You can't leave Russia yet. I've been to America's house and I saw his room. He is going to try and get you after what you've done to him. Do you hear me? You cannot go back!"

Canada is confused. "But…America's dead…"

Britain shakes his head. "He's not dead. He's healed from his wounds. America is al-" He is stopped when the phone cuts off. Maybe he doesn't have cell service. All this doubt leaves his mind when an icy voice comes up from the other end.

"I had a feeling you would tell my brother," America says. His voice is cold and calm. "Britain. Those words on the wall? They are all true. You are a living example of it. The betrayal you just did hurts me more than you think." There is a pause and a gun can be heard being loaded. "Learn from Russia. You don't want to mess with me." A snicker. "If you do, I can't say life would be very pleasant for you. Here. I'll show you."

Britain is confused but speeds up. He throws the phone to the back, focusing on the road. Only then he hears a faint beeping. Looking around, he tries to locate the source. A feeling of dread overcomes him as his eyes fall on the phone in the backseat. The beeping stops. Britain barely has time to brace himself when the phone detonates, a fiery ball quickly engulfing the car as the force of the explosion is enough to case the vehicle to flip over. The car skids several yards before coming to a stop, fire and the smell of burning rubber fills the air.

 **I hope this cliff hanger is any good. Do you guys like it? Should I continue it? How am I doing on the present tense business? Should I switch to pass tense? Sorry. Too many questions. I hope you enjoyed this story. Thank you all for reading Right and Wrong as well. I love you guys and I love reading your reviews. This is Flamboyantlollipop signing off. Until next time!**


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